Shatter the Glass
by Crayola Hearts
Summary: She would be nothing but an empty shell when he was through with her.


**Note: **This has been on tumblr for a while now, and I just recently decided to post it here because why not.

As a fair warning, this is definitely one of my darker fics, and I should mention that if any sort of **abuse**, be it manipulation or what not, bothers you, I'd steer clear of this.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Shatter the Glass<strong>_

He couldn't stand her.

She walked with her head held high, bathed in confidence she did not deserve. Despite her heated glares and violent nature, she was not all that. She wasn't exactly weak, but she did not possess the means to back up her threats. Without that staff she was nothing, especially to man such as he was. Yet she strode around as if she were some kind of goddess, wearing her crown as if she had the right. She acted like a god damn queen, always ordering the others around, including the man she was supposedly working under. She strutted and flaunted as if she owned the damn place, and she may well have in her crews eyes, but she was nothing in his eyes.

And yet she was a fire.

But fires could easily be dampened.

She was nothing. Her existence was merely a speck in his being, one he'd soon forget as he moved on with his life. And yet she was everything to him, in a sick and twisted way.

She acted as if she was unbreakable, untouchable, an ethereal being that was above the rest of them - and he wanted nothing more than to tear her down from her damn pedestal. He wanted to break the pillars she stood on, to watch them crumble to dust as she struggled to regain her footing. One by one, he'd break them, slowly and painfully.

He wanted to savor her downfall. He wanted to watch as her arrogance disappeared, replaced with nothing short of broken emptiness - to watch her wither and crumble in his hands. Like a flower that had been denied water, he wanted to watch her wilt.

She was like porcelain to him, smooth and sturdy looking, but extremely fragile. He wanted to take her into his hands and crush her, shatter her and watch as the pieces collected in dust at his feet. He wanted to step on it, to break it even further.

He wanted her completely at his mercy. He wanted to watch her writhe and beg for salvation - she wanted to see her crying, fearing for everything she held dear. It was pitiful how easily he could turn her into putty in his hands, but as pitiful as it was, the thought starved him.

It was a thirst really, a thirst for destruction- an unyielding urge to savor the moment her world came crashing down around her. He wanted nothing more than to watch her, the fire that burned so brightly it outshone the sun, dwindle down to nothing more than a smoldering pile of embers before he completely doused it with his own hands.

He wanted her to bleed.

He wanted her crimson to stain his hands, to drip from the tips of his fingers as he took everything she had, yet he didn't want her to die; for all fun would be gone in that moment. Playing with a corpse wasn't all that entertaining. No. He wanted to watch her bleed out, slow and painful. To watch as she became utterly spent, crumbled at his feet like a paper that had seen better days.

And he would love it.

He would relish at the sight of it. It would drive him insane in a way that would only cause him to crave for more - an addiction fueled by every cry and scream and whimper that left her lips.

Then he'd sew the wounds shut and kiss them better, building her up on a false hope, giving her a ray of light while she was at her darkest. Then, when she finally thought she could find solace, he would finger the incisions, pulling the threads one by one, reopening the cuts in the most antagonizing way he could. She would fight back, he knew she would because that's how she was, and he would find sick delight in her desperation, and he would only pull on the chains, tightening them further as a reminder that she was his - that no matter how hard she fought and struggled, she would never be freed.

The thought made his hands twitch with anticipation. He'd have her by the throat, his grip unrelenting as he tore everything away from her; her family, her freedom, and her will to live.

She would be nothing but an empty shell when he was through with her.


End file.
